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12. 05. 1936
Born in Águeda. Studied Law at Coimbra University, where he was involved in student theatre. Poet and writer. His poetry is marked by a great musicality and by his involvement in social issues. |
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| 1. I do not know what colour the ships are when they shipwreck in your arms I know that there is a body never found out there in the sea and that living body is your immaterial body your promise in the masts of all sailboats the perfumed isle of your legs your womb of conches and coral the grotto where you await me with your lips of foam and saltiness your shipwrecks and the great equation of the wind and the voyage where chance flowers with its mirrors its signs of rose and discovery. I do not know the colour of that line where the moon and masts cross but I know that in each road there is a corner an opening between the routine and the marvellous there is an hour of fire for blue the hour in which I find and do not find you there is an opposite angle a magical geometry where everything might be possible there is an imaginary sea open on each page don't you tell me that routes will never again be born of desire and I want the southern cross of your hands I want your name written in the tides in this city where in the most absurd place at a no entry sign or traffic lights all sunsets tell me who you are. 2. I have heard that there's a sailboat that left from the painting it is that which comes perhaps in the dangerous cloud that disappeared sailboat that is all of us. From my window I see it pass in the southern wind at other times seated looking at the magic angle I feel the logarithmic presence coming in an alexandrine of Cesário Verde bringing the ironwork and the tang of the sea brings your unrepeatable body your womb subtly perpendicular to the line of the horizon and the omens or simply the other shore the scintillating enigma flowering in the cedar before what is that country I ask What is that country where everything exists and does not exist what is that country this perfume arrives from this tang of seaweed and farewell that tear of just thinking and feeling it. It is not only a physical place out there on a map it is perhaps the adjective western the verb westernise the adverb westly maybe even the noun westernment. This in the palm of the hand in the nerve in destiny and also in your body open to the north-east wind it is perhaps your face happy and sad - that country that exists and does not exist. I do not know what colour the ships are I know that at times in the most secret corner in the simple stirring of a curtain in a current of air in a rhythm there is a sudden gleam of star and compass a magnetic needle in the pulse a sea within a sea inside a sea in thinking. There is a wandering and sailing self not more than a sign a beating a polar heart something which has the colour of ice and the antarctic and knows the south the fear the temptation an irremediable interior navigation a phantom ship fantastic love. Senhora das Tempestades |
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